At three a.m. on the longest night
and no sleep since Monday I park
in thick wind and scoop my career
from the passenger seat in inches of
loose pages. The wind has it in for me.
Oh my nightshift oh my annotations—
what a huge magnolia in slow detonation,
what an angel, what a din of unhinged
wings. I stand in my lozenge of dark
as the wind shakes my bones. Oh. Oh.
Four hours later jogging for the train
through black streets. Who's the girl
in nothing but an origami party dress,
three sheets to the wind and silver shoes
in one hand? Slap slap slap, her damp heels
take the pavement and her skirt explodes
like spray around the dead star of her face.
What class of passenger are we, no more
solid than the wind? I turn on my spindle
all the way to Manchester. Oh. Oh.
So Many Moving Parts
Bloodaxe Books / Dufour Editions